Forever
by parisoriginal
Summary: Words said or written by Quinn Fabray about one Rachel Berry.


**A/N:** Started as a prompt from Katie (thefrozentofu) and then transformed completely. I don't even know how it happened but this came blurting out, and it's far from what was asked from me. Sorry!

Here's a light drabble, or whatever I should call it. All in all, this is dedicated to Bree (central-perk). I love you, babydoll. Happy birthday :*

* * *

There's something in the way she looks down at the ground at any compliment sent her way. The corners of her eyes tighten and her cheekbones rise. Her lips spread out with her pearly white teeth all in a row. Sometimes, her bottom lip is held captive between them, and as her smile glides over her face, the tissue is inevitably released. A round, pink hue appears. Her skin flourishing, as if a drop of paint were to have fallen into a clear glass of water.

Her throat bobbles in a sudden giggle and I like to imagine it is what angels sound like when they are happy. Her lashes bat, but her stare never meets mine. I usually tip my head to the side, as if maybe that angle could help me to see her; to look into her. Alas, her line of vision remains on the ground. Her hands nervously rub against each other. Other times, they are in the pockets of her raincoat, winter coat, sweater, or wherever they can seek refuge on herself. However, in a few occurrences, her fingers play amongst themselves; probably trying to entertain her brain and not let herself get too swept off her feet.

There's something in the way she sings. When she is belting notes off sheet music, bringing every word to life. Her hand clutches to where her heart is, grasping the fabric of her dress. Her eyebrows are knitted tight and eyes shut. Sometimes, there are tears, and whether they are falling from joy or pain, I can never tell. Her emotions are spewed and displayed across for all to see, but none to understand. How can so much come out of such a tiny little person?

Her feet stomp with every syllable and it almost feels as if she is yanking out my heart with every breath. I can never look away, not for a second. I would rather not blink forever if it meant taking something like this from my memory. Her palm now facing the audience as her arm swings out to her side, carrying out her melodic voice; it bounces off walls and back to the ears of everyone leaning in, listening, and even those who aren't.

There's something in the way she cries. It is something so painful and beautiful all wrapped into one. Her eyes change. They are never the same. Each time is different. More often than not, in the years I have known her, they are a dark chocolate; a deep, dark, pool of chocolate. A pool so filled with sadness that it is almost impossible to not drown in it. My heart sinks thinking about it.

Though, in rare occasions, her eyes are so bright, and they gleam and shine louder than a lighthouse. Every tear shed is like a new hope; a new beginning. Usually, when she cries like this, her smile is unbelievably wide. I almost feel like, were she to smile any wider, my own cheeks would begin to burn. It is times like those that I feel like I could love her forever.

There's something in the way she holds my hand. When she is excited and can hardly wait, she grips my fingers tight, as if she'd never let me go, ever. I can feel her pulse in my palm. Her heart beats a million times a second. I hardly keep pace; her little feet take her wherever she wishes to go in no time at all. She tugs at my whole arm, and at times I'm scared she will take it with her and leave the rest of my body behind.

When we are alone, her fingertips take their time. They linger, they feel, they tickle and they hover. They trace patterns over my fingers, in between, atop, underneath, over, and under… Our hands intertwine, they tap, hold, squeeze, and let go. She's never too close or too far, but there are also days when I feel as we are one. And in those days, I would like to live forever.

There's something in the way she sighs. When I hold her close, or brush my fingers past her cheek. When I tuck her hair behind her ear, or when I kiss her neck. When she's happy, and when she's satisfied. When her favorite food touches her tastebuds. When stretches in the morning, or when she finally falls asleep.

My favorite, however, takes place late at night, when no one else can hear us. When she is lying beneath me. Her forehead drenched with sweat, and even if it is dark, I can see the hot pink blush over her cheeks. When she's breathless, but somehow finds the words and the air to say them. When our foreheads are against each other and my fingers buried deep. When there is so much emotion, neither of us know what to do with it all. When her breath burns my ear, and as soon as she is close enough, I hear, "I love you."

There's something in the way she is Rachel Berry. A woman, a girl, a light, a song, a new leaf on the first day of spring. She is everything life is and should be. All of the joys and sorrows of the world embodied in bones and flesh. A heart pumping a thousand miles a minute. Energy kept and released and restored and reused. The sun rising and setting each and every day.

How she is in everything I see, and everything I feel. How when I close my eyes, she is there; in lights, in colors, in feelings, and in tastes. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph. She is the blankets I sleep in when I am alone, she is the bird chirping outside my window at dawn. She is the stars in the night and the clouds in the sky. She is every raindrop and every snowflake. And it is times like these that I know she will stay with me forever.


End file.
